


Lex Talionis: Streets of Fire

by An_Uninspired_Heap



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics)
Genre: Gen, Jim Gordon - Referenced
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 15:12:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17226374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/An_Uninspired_Heap/pseuds/An_Uninspired_Heap
Summary: After much forethought and coaxing over his three years weeding out Gotham’s filth, Bruce Wayne finally tries an alternative approach to saving his beloved city: The Wayne Rehabilitation Program. Fully sanctioned employment and help for Gotham’s criminal element. While initially promising, this act of high treason against the status quo earns the philanthropist a blazing bullseye on his back.





	Lex Talionis: Streets of Fire

**T** hunderclaps rattled the skies of Gotham City, and the downpour fought tooth and nail with the vile stench of gasoline. Clouds obscured the half moon at the skyline’s zenith where a news chopper was in spinning free fall, stricken down by a vicious bolt of lightning. Tonight, hope died.

The Dark Knight stood atop The Lady of Gotham, his breath fogged and his gaze dead set upon the enemy before him. Primed to kill, Deathstroke the Terminator ogled his prey with his singular eye, and the two masks circled each other slowly.

“Quite the setting, isn’t it? I’ve seen my share of war zones, but this…” the assassin let out a dry chuckle, revelling in the adrenaline that pumped through him slowly. “I wouldn’t miss this for the _world_.”

The three islands of Gotham around them lay razed by an inferno. Rioting gangs and rabid junkies tore the streets apart piece by piece, and the G.C.P.D. was overwhelmed, spread thin across Bleake, Miagani and Founder’s Islands. One could taste the gunpowder if they escaped bullet hell.

“Who…?” Batman growled, “Who sent you?”

“You know that’s classified. Haven’t we done this song and dance before?”

His teeth grit, “I’m not playing games, Slade… _Who sent you?_ ”

Slade did not answer, and Bruce knew that to press further was useless. The Terminator was unlike any of his other foes. A mercenary and a super soldier who fought in the Vietnam War, he was driven. Trained. Enhanced. They had come to blows in the past, but this time, he was gunning for a kill.

“For the record, Bats, burning the city was not my idea. Don’t take it _too_ personally.”

“I’m taking you _down_.”

“If I had a penny for every time I heard that…” Slade drew his powered bo staff into full extension, sending a _whoosh_ through the air. Sparks danced around its edge.

Batman breathed fog, and they locked gazes. Each and every move that could be made telegraphed before the two masters, and they both searched the other for an opening. In unison, at the crack of thunder, both men pounced with battle-cries to drown the inferno. Blows flew like a flurry of bullets, each with landing with a crushing impact. The Batman weaved through the strikes, and Slade read his footwork like a book. Lightning flashed across the two silhouettes locked in mortal combat.

Slade’s staff sparked against the Bat’s gauntlets, pushing him back. They were at the Lady’s edge when the Terminator fired his staff’s kinetic charge square into Bruce’s chest, launching him off the deep end.

**=====#=====**

**_Four hours earlier…_ **

**=====#=====**

**“L** adies and Gentlemen, you have my sincere gratitude for attending today’s inauguration party!”

Bruce Wayne was not the best at speeches, but he tried from time to time. The man knew how to charm a crowd. Chatter was thrown to the wind, and heads across the seminar room of Gotham City Hall turned to pay him attention.

“Today marks day one of the Wayne Foundation Criminal Rehabilitation initiative. As you all know, crime has been rampant on the streets… every day, people disappear into the alleys, and they don’t come back.” his tone was sombre, “It was the earnest, heartfelt dream of my parents – the late Thomas and Martha Wayne – to save this city from itself. To give its people hope… hope that even in the darkest of nights, one can look to the horizon. For dawn will come.”

Spirits rose through the silence. The initiative had already made a difference; simply through the first day, criminal volunteers were up in the thousands. There was an agreement of privilege that protected them from incarceration, and the name of Wayne held sway over even hardened criminals, thanks to the legacy left behind by its former bearers. As the heir to the empire, Bruce embodied their efforts.

“And it is by your graces that we are seeing such staggering success. From the bottom of my heart, I must thank each and every one of you present here today for both your blessings and support to this grand cause.”

Applause rang loud and clear with accompanying cheers. Bruce laughed into the microphone on the stage.

“Well, I’m not the greatest at these speeches, but I’ve said my piece. So without further ado… enjoy yourselves!”

The glass shattered as a sniper round fractured the front window. The shot grazed Wayne’s blazer, much to the horror of the entire room, and pandemonium broke out instantly when the bullet embedded itself into the wall. A clean shot… a deliberate miss.

Amidst the chaos, Bruce weaved through the flood of people all clamouring for the exit. He tuned out the screams and curses, streamlining all focus on his target: a grandfather’s clock at the other end of the hallway. Like a ghost, he vanished into the crowd, and once everyone was out, he turned the clock’s hands to strike twelve, and it moved with a soft rumble echoing through the hollow behind it.

**=====#=====**

**“I** t was an invitation, Alfred,” Bruce spoke into his communicator as the dim, blue screens flickered to life against the inky shadows of the room. Files flew across the screen by the millisecond, and he skimmed them with inhuman speed. “The shooter missed on purpose… rules out a lot of suspects. I’m sending a digitised image of the bullet I retrieved from one of the CCTV cameras. Have it analysed and cross-referenced with the ballistics database.”

“Of course, sir,” said Alfred, “If I may be so bold… perhaps you should let the police handle this?”

“Alfred…”

“Wishful thinking on my end, I know. But the city needs _Bruce Wayne…_ you need to give them _hope_ , sir, not fear. Think about--”

“I’ve sent over the enhanced image. Get me results.”

Alfred did not respond, but one could hear his tired sigh on the other side. Bruce ignored it, single-minded in mission and drive. The past two years after his return, he had come into contact with multiple dangerous individuals, all of which he recorded on a personal database; a list with specifications he had committed to memory.

Deadshot and Cain were off the list. They got down to business, never missing. Shiva, Cheshire, and Bronze Tiger had different M.O.s, and the Tiger was behind bars. Such audacity was something Bruce had faced only once before. Even when records failed him, his mind was set; he knew in his gut who did this.

“Sir,” Alfred spoke tired into his communicator, “I’ve found a match. The bullet is custom made, with exchange records leading to multiple dead ends from a shell corporation – _W.G. Ballistics_ – that loops into dummy fronts. Untraceable.”

“And that’s our clue,” Bruce said.

“Excuse me?”

“I’ve got our man. Prep the Batwing; I’m moving out now.”

Alfred paused, but relented, “Of course, sir. It’ll be with you in three.”

Bruce shut comms off and turned his attention to the screen. W.G. Ballistics was a clever front, but a parallel to this particular brand of audacious call combined with the resources and smarts to set up the chain pointed in the direction of only one man. _A very dangerous man…_

He shed his blazer and placed his hand on a scanner, and locks clicked. _‘Identification Confirmed: Wayne, Bruce. Commencing Retinal Scan.’_ A panel flipped around his head level and shone a light on his eye. With a hiss, the wall parted after the _ping_ , revealing the rising shadow of the Bat.

**=====#=====**

**“C** harges set, boss,” came the transmission through Roman Sionis’ walkie-talkie, and he caught himself nodding before quickly adding _good work, over,_ to communications. After shutting his phone off, The Black Mask turned to face his peers on a roundtable. After all, he was but one of Gotham’s most dangerous in this circle.

“Well, well, I assume the plan’s ready for action, Mask?” A sleazy voice croaked, “Gotta say, you work fast. I might be mildly impressed.”

Across from him, was Oswald Cobblepot. Alias, the Penguin. An arms dealer and self-proclaimed collector of art. He held sway over underground logistics and had personal beef with Bruce Wayne. While he waddled about comically like a penguin, underestimating him got you killed.

“Something like that…” Roman didn’t appreciate the casual tone, but he held that close to his chest. “City’s been wired to blow.”

“Then let judgment commence, I say…” Beside him sat the former district attorney, scarred and verbose as ever. Harvey ‘Two-Face’ Dent was one of Gotham’s most renowned marksmen, responsible for single-handedly bringing down the Falcone Family within their own homes.

With half his face liquefied by acid into a hideous, skinless deformity, he embraced his old nickname in law enforcement with open arms.

“My boys have gotten into all the charity drives, and the coin…” a flip landed the penny on his palm with the scarred side up, “The coin says we blow this joint to kingdom come, and take back Gotham!”

“Not yet, you idiot… we haven’t gotten the signal,” growled Sionis, his eyeballs popping through his mask as he busted a vein under burnt plastic, “and don’t _for a second_ think you get to take the high ground, Dent! We got a plan, and we’re stickin’ to it.”

“I’m glad to see you know where we stand, Roman,” a voice came from the shadows, “I appreciate cooperative colleagues.”

Footfalls silenced the bickering, and the shadows crept off a bandaged man in a trench coat. His face was obscured, and his body reeked of blood and death. Broad-shouldered, he stood before Gotham’s worst of the worst, his empty gazer creeping slowly up their spines.

“All the pieces are in place. Gentlemen,” his voice, while a whisper, held command of the room. “My associate is making his move as we speak. We will snap Wayne like a twig and emasculate him before his beloved city. Finally, when night’s embrace comes, and I have peeled Gotham back, _layer by raw layer,_ I will have his head on a pike… as an _example_ to all those who would deny this city’s true nature.”

“Y’know, they say there isn’t an _I_ in _team_ ,” Cobblepot croaked, “and while you’ve been nothin’ but generous, I gotta wonder… what the hell’s in this for you?”

Harvey flipped a coin onto his palm. “Agreed. I don’t particularly care where you got the resources to set this up, but in a court of law, _motive_ seals _fates_. Your vendetta against Wayne seems… personal.”

_“Very personal,”_ Sionis added, his curiosity getting the better of him. “I don’t care, but a name or face would make this relationship a lot… healthier.”

The bandaged man laughed.

“Scepticism. I like it,” he said, “Human beings advanced as a species from asking questions. For your cooperation, I will reward you with answers.”

This drew smiles from the entire room.

“My face is a… work in progress. An incomplete project, if you will. But I _can_ give you a name,” his smile under the bandages contorted the very shape of his head, “You’ve earned it, but let’s keep it _hush-hush,_ shall we?”

“Hush?” Cobblepot asked, “Funny name. I can get behind it, though.”

“Here here.” Two-Face agreed, the rasp in his voice thirsting for blood.

Sionis didn’t trust him yet. He could practically hear the mutiny brewing from all three fronts. Tensions in the room were high, even under the false pretence of common ground. “Well, then, _Hush_ … here’s to a successful revolution.”

“Agreed,” Hush said, “By the end of tonight, the house of Wayne will fall, and from the ashes… _let rise the city of Gotham_.”

**=====#=====**

**_Present Time_ **

**=====#=====**

**I** n three seconds, Batman would hit terminal velocity. He knew this, but he also knew his suit could handle the G-force. Fist clenched, he injected a charge into his cape, spreading the wings that let him glide to safety. He shot a grapnel line at The Lady’s wrist before zipping through the air in deft avoidance of deafening handgun fire. The line boosted him into a brutal descent upon Deathstroke atop the wooden platform.

The dive bomb was powerful, initiating a shockwave from his suit’s kinetic outlets. It knocked Deathstroke off his feet.

Bruce moved like a flowing river, shooting Slade’s shoulder with his Batclaw before pulling him into a vicious clothesline. The Terminator reeled but was barely winded. He rose, and they resumed combat.

Their fists punched like gunshots in the rain, each fighter reading the other in ways unimaginable. To the naked eye, they were but blurs.

Bruce clasped the descending staff strike in his gauntlet, twisting the weapon and Slade into a swift, disarming kick. He then snapped the staff in half and threw the pieces to the wind.

“RAGH!” Slade cried rising, “Do you know how expensive one of those power staves is?”

“I know you’re going to jail!”

Deathstroke drew his katana from the sheath on his back and advanced. “No… I’m going to kill you!”

Metals met in sharp resonance as Bruce parried strike after strike, careful this time to stay away from the edge. The fight wore on him, but he saw it did the same to his opponent. They were neck in neck, throats burning with the touch of blood, and body sore through the armour. Bruce was skilled, but Slade was his physical superior. He had to end this fast.

With animalistic aggression, the Batman hooked the incoming blade on both sets of his gauntlet quills before shattering the blade. Slade’s eye widened before Bruce flattened his nose with a headbutt that drew blood within his helm. Ever the opportunist, he didn’t let up, following up with a flurry of armour-denting, chambered punches that dug into the mercenary without pity or reprieve.

With a kick to knock Slade down, Batman wired his Batclaw to the scaffolding beneath them, and while Slade recovered, quickly clipped a Bat-cuff to his ankle. The mechanism went off, dragging the disoriented, screaming mercenary right off the platform into a precarious dangle off the edge of The Lady of Gotham.

Batman stood above him, triumphant, but breathless.

“It’s over, Slade… Give up.”

Slade scoffed. “Guess you win this round, Bats… but make no mistake – I’ll be back, and Wayne’s a dead man!”

“Save it.” Bruce said, “You’re done.”

An incoming call from Alfred tuned Slade’s response out of Bruce’s mind. “Sir! Are you all right?”

“I’m breathing. Deathstroke is down.”

Alfred let out a relieved sigh, “You beat him. Wonderful…”

“Call in Gord--” he peered over the edge, but to his shock, the dangling line lacked a hanging Slade. “Dammit… he got away!”

“Is everything all right, sir? The City. It’s…”

Gritting his teeth, he swallowed his rage. “I know. Strike that last order; I need the Batwing _now_.”

“Good call. I tracked the source of the remote detonator that set the city on fire, sir. You’re looking for the Sionis Steel Mill complex.”

“What? That’s been abandoned for months!”

“Apparently not anymore, sir. I’ve loaded the coordinates into your cowl. There is… substantial security.”

“Understood.”

“Stay safe, sir.”

Bruce hung up just as the Batwing’s engines hummed above his head. With resolve set, he primed his grapnel launcher and disappeared into the clouds.

**=====#=====**

**T** he pale moon shimmered in the sky, painted crimson by the raging inferno that consumed Gotham City. The people’s cries for a saviour fell on deaf ears, and the G.C.P.D. combining forces with the Fire Department was a seemingly futile endeavour, for the smouldering flames only rose higher and higher.

Away from Hell, the Sionis Steel Mill was a fortified fortress. As an abandoned sector of Gotham, it had not seen the wrath of Black Mask’s explosive charges or Two-Face’s armed thugs. A small platoon of goons had been deployed to guard it. Armed with Assault Rifles, they patrolled the perimeter, sometimes taking glances at the city on fire.

Karlo, however, felt uneasy about the whole thing. Like he was being watched. To ease tensions, he kickstarted a conversation.

“Yo, Mark, think da boss’ll turn on Two-Face an’ Penguin after the deal’s done?”

“Yeah, duh,” Mark laughed, “I mean, one’s a shitty little bird and the other looks like he belongs in a hospital. Like, jeezus, ya seen ‘is face-- er… faces?”

“Nah… not really. Never saw ‘im outside the posters.”

The two stood guarding the door when a scream came from the distance. With gasps, they ran towards the source, and – to their horror – found one of their own dangling from the edge of an apartment building, flailing and crying in fear.

“It’s da freakin’ Bat!” Mark hollered, and all the remaining thugs went on high alert with rifles primed. The shadows around them shifted.

Karlo found his heart rate spiking and his breathing erratic. His hand shook holding the gun, and he could hear more screams as his friends were taken out one by one. Sickening cracks permeated through the Steel Mill’s complex, and muffled screams. A panicked panorama of the complex could spot you a body or two, writhing on the ground.

Mark signalled for Karlo to go left, while he went right, and the two men shivered as they parted ways. Karlo continued walking, checking each corner like his life depended on it. _Shit… FUCK! We had sixteen!_

“All clear!” he said, “Mark! All clear!”

No answer. Karlo’s blood froze because he knew what this meant. He was alone. “Come out and fight me, Bat! I… I ain’t afraid o’ you!”

The man was hyperventilating, checking every side and shakily pointing his gun at corners. He even fired a few stray shots that shattered the silence of the complex, but they hit nothing.

“FIGHT ME!”

He felt a sharp pain on his back, where the shadows struck at him. Before he could react, a giant arm wrapped itself around his neck, and his eyes rolled back when his head slammed into the ground with a _CRACK!_

**=====#=====**

**B** atman stared down the Sionis Steel Mill after activating the inbuilt Detective Mode feature his cowl boasted. A combination of RADAR, SONAR and LIDAR, which gave him a perfect image of his surroundings, spotting hostiles through the thickest walls. A simple glance in the given radius allowed him to see the complex building because three organics were seated underground. The security was down.

He planted an explosive on the locked door and blew the barricade apart with a simple detonation. He immediately drew his remote hacking device to disable the optics systems used by the sentry gun pointed his way and disappeared into the shadows.

Without a sound, he found his way into the building’s ventilation system, navigating the grates to find his way to the ceiling of the basement, where an open grate allowed him to see the three responsible for this hell tonight.

He saw three familiar faces.

Roman Sionis, aka Black Mask. The biggest mob boss of organised crime in Gotham since the deaths of both Falcone and Maroni. Across him on the roundtable were Oswald Cobblepot, aka the Penguin, and Harvey ‘Two-Face’ Dent. He heard the three talking and watched carefully from a grate above their eye level.

“So…” Sionis began, “Gotham’s on fire, and everything’s dying. Is this seriously what we signed up for?”

“You’re the one who rigged the city, Mask!” Harvey growled, “What’d you think was going to happen?”

“I thought he’d leverage the cops! Not actually blow the place to kingdom come!”

Cobblepot laughed. “I dunno, and I frankly don’t care much! More customers for my Iceberg Lounge. Think that oughta be worth somethin’... _Cobblepot donates refuge to the needy…_ perfect headline! Kawhawhawhaw!”

Black Mask seemed agitated.”Tch… we’re rallying behind another vigilante in fear of the first one! We’re _Gotham’s worst of the worst_ ; why are we following this Hush bugger anyway?”

“You trying to start something, Sionis?” Harvey growled.

Both gangsters reached for the handguns they kept in their pockets, ready for a shootout underground.

“Fellas, fellas, let’s all take a step back!” Cobblepot intervened, the voice of reason, “Aren’t we all here to take Gotham back? From that filthy rich-boy Wayne! He’s the enemy!”

With gritted teeth, both the taller men let their firearms go.

“I need some air…” Sionis said before reaching for his walkie-talkie. “Karlo! Open the barricades! I need to get out for a bit.”

Batman’s eyes narrowed as all Black Mask got was radio silence.

“Karlo…? Karlo!”

“Something’s wrong... “ Harvey grit his teeth, “I know this feeling…”

_BOOM_ – The ventilation grate exploded outwards and slammed Two-Face in the back of his head, and a Batarang knocked Roman’s gun right out of his hand, drawing a roar of agony out of him as the projectile embedded itself in his hand.

Cobblepot screamed like a girl when he jumped out of his seat as smoke filled the room under the hiss of a smoke pellet. A shadowy figure with pointed ears and glowing blue eyes shifted through the haze.

“It’s him!” Penguin quivered, “I’m out!”

Batman drew a bolas rope and floored Oswald mid-stride into a tangled heap. The poor bird didn’t stand a chance.

The Caped Crusader slinked through the smoke, and with a ferocity of a tiger, laid Black Mask out with a vicious right cross. His eyes then narrowed on the struggling, obese crime lord still left conscious. He lifted Cobblepot by the back of his collar and slammed him into the wall.

“Who are you working for?” He roared, “Answers! I need them. Fast!”

The Penguin cried out in pain as Batman twisted his arm painfully. “I don’t know! I don’t know!”

“Don’t _bullshit_ me, Cobblepot! I’ve had a long night… talk, _while you still have an arm_!”

Joints began to crack, and Oswald whimpered pitifully. “Please- Please no more! I-I’ll talk! I’ll tell you everything!”

“I’m losing my patience…”

“It’s him! The bandaged man!” Penguin cried, “Calls himself Hush! Has resources enough to hire Deathstroke and set Gotham on fire! Real vendetta with Wayne! That’s all I know! I promise! Please!”

Cobblepot did not get to say another word, because a scalpel ran his throat right through before embedding itself into the wall. Batman dropped his bleeding, choking body and whirled around to face the assailant at the staircase.

“Tch… such a tattletale, that one,” the bandaged man known as Hush chuckled darkly, “That’s the thing with these criminal scum. No loyalty, no code, no integrity…”

Bruce glared him down. “You call _murder_ a _code_?”

“Hey now, that’s relative. Are you sure he’s dead?” Hush smiled, “Take the time to check, and you let me escape… tell me, hero, which is more important?”

He measured the bandaged man, simultaneously transmitting the whole exchange to Alfred. His butler could read Cobblepot’s vitals through the ultrasound emitters, allowing him to deduce the criticality of the wound.

“He’s alive, sir. But that strike… it had surgical precision.”

“He’s alive,” Batman repeated, much to Hush’s shock. He recovered quickly, though.

“Well played… Now we’re at quite the impasse. I clearly can’t fight you, but the bigger question is… can you catch me?”

**=====#=====**

**E** xplosive charges blew the wall apart, and Hush leapt out of the building with Batman in hot pursuit. The man was acrobatic, scaling the pipelines along the Steel Mill's side with ease. Batman shot his grapnel line to zip after him. He took to the skies while Hush used rooftop cover masterfully to elude immediate detection. Soon, their chase would extend into the burning city outside the abandoned Mill.

Alfred spoke into communications. "I'm tracking his thermal signature, but the city's too hot right now!"

"Switch to Sonar," Bruce commanded, "We can't lose him!"

He pinpointed Hush on a rooftop and calculated that they would intercept in twelve seconds. Batman descended into a dive bomb, but the edge of Hush's head betrayed a smile.

He rode the kinetic shock from Batman's landing, masterfully evading contact and even using it to get atop a burning building. Bruce was impressed but aggravated. Mid-run, he aimed another grapnel line and resumed pursuit.

"Sir, there's too much noise. We _will_ lose him if he goes too deep into the city!"

"I know!" Batman roared, "Call Gordon! Block off the city borders!"

"Right away, sir."

Hush laughed over the crackling inferno. "You think I'm leaving town? Cute, Batman. Very cute… and very true!"

Taking a sharp turn, he flew off the edge of the building, vaulting onto a flagpole before using the forward momentum to make a nigh-impossible leap onto a Gargoyle meters above the smaller buildings. Batman made a landing and looked up towards the bandaged man.

Squatted, Hush sneered down at the Caped Crusader, the flames of destruction outlining his silhouette in the shadow of the Clock Tower. "Don't think you've seen the last of me, Batman… This was the test run."

"Who are you?"

"Someone from the dark. This city created me… just as it created you!"

From behind the Clock Tower, chopper blades whipped against the arid winds, blowing sharp currents against Bruce. His cape swayed violently in the updrafts.

"Now that I know how you think, Dark Knight, You can count on us meeting again. In fact… _I guarantee it_."

"Wait!"

But he did not wait. With a leap off the gargoyle, Hush disappeared into the helicopter and was well on his way over the Gotham border. Alfred tuned into the communicative channel. "Sir, should I send in the Batwing?"

"... No." Bruce said as he watched the chopper speed into the horizon. "No, the city needs me right now."

"Which of you two, sir? _Batman_ , or _Bruce Wayne_?"

Bruce did not answer. Instead, he turned and began to walk back towards the Mill under the shimmering glow of the pale moon.

"Who was that, if you don't mind me asking?"

"I don't know, but he was good… too good."

"Rich too. He hired Deathstroke. Will you be alright, sir?"

"I beat him once, Alfred, and I can do it again. Now patch me through to Gordon, and let him know I have three criminals ready for transfer to Arkham."

At granite's edge, the Dark Knight fired his grapnel gun and disappeared into the night. In solitude, he could think on the words of Hush, which haunted his mind like the spectres of blasphemous martyrs, damned to hell by a cruel God.

_This city created me... just as it created you!_

**X===== FIN =====X**

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, hello! I know this is quite the deviation from my usual Pokemon content, but a demon possessed me when I woke up today, and by the end of the day, I had this one-shot written out.
> 
> It features quite a few characters, and it’s meant to flow like a comic issue. If this piece gets enough traction, I might write a follow up with Hush as the full-on villain. Until then, though, criticisms and feedback are much appreciated.
> 
> Thanks for reading!  
> ~Ace


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